To Love and Be Loved
by IlluminatedShadow
Summary: Perhaps Arthur wanted to cling to whomever he had left, forcing physical bonds instead of wasting time building bridges from the heart. Perhaps he dared not believe that he could be loved. Matthew hoped Arthur knew that he was loved. England/Canada


Hi everyone. So, I really felt like writing some UK/Canada 'cause I really like the pairing, like seriously to the max for reals. And, in that desire, this monster was born. Its...different. Read the warnings carefully please. Then, read away~

Pairing: UK/Canada

Warnings: angst, slash, borderline dubious consent, pedophillia

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

* * *

Arthur hated being alone. The sandy-haired man would never admit it, never hint at it, never dare to even let it linger in the recesses of his mind, but he hated the cold isolation loneliness brought. He desired company, wanted someone to be in the room as he drank tea. He wanted the warmth of another body, the touch of another person's skin under his fingertips. He craved more than just the flickering lights of the fae when he sat next to the roaring fireplace, idly thumbing through yellowing pages of ancient manuscripts, relieving his own days of glory on the pages of fiction.

Matthew knew this about his guardian.

He also knew the man never let it show lest his desires be perceived as weakness.

It truly was lonely at the top of the world, Matthew would muse.

But Matthew could see how much having someone near softened the usually leonine man.

With Alfred, it was the most obvious. Arthur doted on his brother, bending to the young colony's every whim and fancy, while maintaining a suitably stern façade. But Matthew, watching from the doorway clutching his faithful bear, watched as the man's face softened at the sound of a cheerful voice butchering his name before a golden ball of energy and love tumbled into his legs, grasping his knees and blinding the room with sunshine.

Arthur loved Alfred.

(Matthew liked to think, for Arthur's sake, that Alfred loved him too.)

Maybe he didn't fling his love around, excessively and unrestrained, like Francis. The blonde Frenchman loved freely, never spreading the emotion too thin, keeping the doors of his heart open. He always told Matthew that love is something one should never hoard. Never be stingy with your heart. Share it and others will open theirs to you as well.

That is why Matthew loved Arthur, even when his mind told him it was a lost cause.

Arthur, for all his prim and proper 'don't ever let them see your emotions', was incredibly blind to quiet hearts.

Matthew remembered Francis's lips pressing against his cheeks, his forehead, and his hair. He remembered the way the other trembled and clutched the confused toddler to his chest and begged, in hushed whispers, apologies and for Matthew to never forget him. He remembers peaking over the Englishman's shoulder and seeing glistening eyes and the way Francis's arms still reached out for him.

And for the longest time he hated Arthur, hated his harsh tongue and harsher food.

But he remembered how Francis once muttered, believing his precious charge was asleep, how, for someone with such a sensitive heart, Arthur could be a complete fool.

And then Matthew, once feral and disobedient, grew loyal and loving. Violet eyes no longer swirling with rage, but wide with adoration.

But emerald eyes never met his watching gaze.

But Matthew liked to think that Arthur, who tucked him in and read to him stories of explorers and fantastical creatures in a warm voice and smoothed unruly curls of gold, cared.

So the young colony watched and waited, patiently. He grew into adolescence, face and body still soft with the kiss of childhood. Governesses spoiled him, cooing and pleased with his gentle demeanor and kind disposition. Tutors praised his burgeoning genius and quick grasp of knowledge. Maids wondered how such a sweet tempered and loving child could grow up in the same house as their stern master.

And, above all, Matthew was loyal.

He watched as Arthur's favorite tore apart their family home, stormed out and never looked back.

He watched Arthur fall apart.

He watched as the loneliness overtook his guardian, twisting him and corrupting him. He saw Arthur replace his mask, befriend the bottle, and try to convince himself that he was better off without the ungrateful brat.

Matthew wondered when Arthur would notice him watching from doorway.

When Arthur finally did, Matthew couldn't help but pity the man.

"Matthew." The familiar accent was now foreign to his ears. Warm hands grasped his narrow waist before tugging the reluctantly complacent against an unyielding chest. Deceptively strong arms wrapped around him and Matthew could feel warm breath against the nape of his neck.

Matthew shivered, staring straight ahead and fairly certain of what would happen soon.

Warm lips pressed against young skin.

Hands hot and possessive at his waist, hips, skimming over the curve of his backside, spreading fire in their wake.

It was a dangerous reminder, a taste of what would happen.

Verdant eyes never left his face once, always watching (admiring?). He could feel the burning gaze even when he shut his eyes, arching his back and throwing back his head so his golden locks lay splayed out on the bed, a perverted halo illuminated by the cold moonlight.

Calloused fingers, demanding and bruising, grasped tender skin, leaving vivid marks not soon to be forgotten, pale and unblemished like the unknown north. Matthew gasped, small, delicate hands grabbing uselessly at the sheets, not daring to grab the battle-scared man looming over him. They only sought refuge in tousled locks when Arthur leaned down, scattering kisses against the curve of his shoulder, and murmured sweet comforts.

"Matthew…" Arthur whispered with all the reverence of a broken man believing he was utterly forsaken. He leaned down to capture soft lips.

Matthew turned his head, focusing instead on a dark corner.

Arthur, surprisingly, chose not to grasp the other's chin and force his affections.

Perhaps he dared not take more than what was offered.

The only sound feeling the room was the meeting of bare skin, damp with heat and sweat and other things Matthew had no desire to name. Occasionally the other man would whisper soft encouragements or endearments, sometimes letting out a low grunt or barely hidden moan.

Matthew thought he heard the other whisper "Mine" at some point. He also could've sworn he heard the beseech him to never leave.

Matthew wondered if Arthur understood that sometimes loyalty could not be forced.

He supposed the other man was lucky that he was similar in only looks to Francis and Alfred.

He wasn't sly or loud. He could not smile disarmingly and charm someone. He could not steal trust or win confidence.

But he did love Arthur. He would be loyal.

Later, after Arthur had pulled out and fussed over his young colony, Matthew had lain still, watching the empire sleep soundly. It seemed the vicious shadows under his eyes had faded just a bit and the tense line of his shoulders had collapsed.

He honestly pitied the man. Perhaps years of isolation and of being abandoned and pushed around had finally taken their toll. Perhaps losing the one he loved so much had been a blow too heavy to endure. Perhaps Arthur wanted to cling to whomever he had left, forcing physical bonds instead of wasting time building bridges from the heart. Perhaps he dared not believe that he could be loved.

Matthew pulled the blanket up closer around himself and his guardian and scooted closer, forcing back tears that threatened to spill as his lower back throbbed cruelly.

Matthew hoped Arthur knew that he was loved.

* * *

I did warn you guys. I am not trying to make pedophilia or sex with dubious consent seem okay. If it comes across as that way, its unintentional. I just like experimenting with different aspects of Canada's relationship with people. In this one-shot, Canada does love England (why? Idk, I'll tackle that later I suppose but for this story, probably because England stayed.) and England is too guarded/dense to see that so he thinks he has to do something else to earn Canada's loyalty. Which he always has had. The man is not bright when it comes to matters of the heart, but he does dislike loneliness. Now, I see a difference in types of loneliness. There's the being physically alone and not minding, but then there's the feeling alone, even with people, and hating it.

Anyways, hopefully this wasn't too awful. I just wanted to get it out of my head. Let me know what you all think. I suppose if there's a lot of outrage (though I don't think there will be), I suppose I could pull it down. I'm just being careful, people. -hides in Cave of Shame-


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